TIOF  Outtakes & Alternative POVs
by I'm.Wishing
Summary: Outtakes and alternative POVs from The Impossibility of Forgetting, a story of first love, rape and recovery.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - I had a request from an awesome reader for Chapter 13 from**_**The Impossibility of Forgetting **_**from Edward's POV and thought that was a great idea. I'll continue to post outtakes of deleted scenes/differing POVs occasionally. If you're new to**_**The Impossibility of Forgetting, **_**please know that this is a story about rape and recovery. It is told with sensitivity and without gratuitous violence, but if rape is a trigger issue for you, you might want to read a different story.**

**All Twilight references belong to Stephenie Meyer. All unique story elements belong to me.**

Chapter 13

**Edward**

I sprint through Fork's parking lot to my Volvo and haul ass to Bella's house, breaking every traffic law that won't get me killed and honking like a maniac at anyone who pauses for more than two seconds at a stop sign. My insides are tied up in knots, tight with anticipation and dread. I turn onto Bella's street and fly up the secluded hill, my heart beating a million miles a minute, my tires spitting dust and gravel the whole way.

Her BMW is parked in front of the house instead of in the garage like usual. I pull in behind it and get out, hurrying toward the enormous front door. What I see stops me cold.

She's sitting on the steps with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, illuminated by the glow of porch lights. She's in the clothes she wore to my game, the dark strands of her hair hang limp around her face. The small streak of blood on her lower lip makes my stomach drop out from under me. Her face is pale and her eyes wary, her makeup smudged like she cried then wiped the tears away. That thought alone nearly breaks my heart.

I rush toward her, kneeling on the step below the one she sits on. It takes her distant eyes a second to focus on me and then she reels back, scooting away. I'm scaring her.

The realization stings like a slap in the face.

I lean in and brush her hair back anyway, my need for answers overpowering the knowledge that my nearness suddenly makes her uncomfortable. Dark red splotches along her neck are obvious even in the sparse light. _Bruises_.

"What happened?" I ask, trying to keep the mounting hysteria out of my voice.

She averts her gaze and shakes her head, tightening her clasped hands at her knees. Her feet are bare, her red-painted toes curling slightly against the paved step.

"Bella, talk to me. What the hell happened?" I'm met with another long lapse of silence. I sit down on the step, leaving a good foot of space between us. Rubbing my hands over my face, I try to push away the frustration that's seeping in, but it doesn't work. After a few deep breaths, I make a last ditch effort. "You're scaring the shit out of me. You have to tell me what happened."

She looks down at her hands and my heart thuds in my chest with the force of a jack hammer as I wait, praying she'll answer. "Riley," she finally whispers.

"He called?" I ask, either unable or unwilling to see the whole picture. Riley lives in Chicago for Christ's sake.

With the slight shake of her head, I finally get it.

"He _came_ here?"

She nods almost imperceptibly.

"How did he find you?"

"He followed me home from school. He said he wanted to talk, but he pushed his way into the house."

She stops abruptly and gazes out into the front yard while I sit dumbstruck, trying to make sense of her story. I struggle to recall everything I know about Riley, every nugget of information Bella has shared. _I really think he might be crazy_, she told me once. _He always pushed me to go further than I was willing. He was persistent… he was going to do it whether I wanted to or not._

My stomach rolls over as Bella looks me in the eye for the first time since I sat down next to her on the step. Her expression, miserable… shameful, nearly crushes me. Comprehension slams into me, knocking away my breath as I realize with agonizing certainty what Riley has done to my girlfriend.

She's still staring at me, her eyes searching mine in a frantic, uncertain way. She's not crying, but she looks absolutely miserable. She knows I know. My insides churn. The threat of vomiting all over the front porch is very real. I swallow hard.

_He raped her. _I can't sit still any longer. I stand robotically, anger and despair pulling me forward like a marionette on strings. I stride to the driveway. _He raped her_. I slam my fist into the side of my Volvo. _Rape. _The crunching of bone on metal is less satisfying than I'd hoped. I'd rather hit Riley. Unable to control my rage, not even wanting to, I rear back, preparing to do bury my fist in metal again.

"Edward!" Bella cries. "Don't!"

Blood rushes through my veins, urging me forward, insisting I do _something_. I've never felt such violent, uncontrollable fury in all my life. Part of me wants to jump in my Volvo and find Riley. But another part—the sensitive, compassionate part that's been growing exponentially over the last few weeks—wants to scoop Bella up and hold her close, to do everything in my power to take her pain away.

I glance at her as a shiver rips through her and that tiny, involuntary movement is all I need to make a choice. She needs me. There's no way I can leave her.

I approach the porch, keeping a safe distance. "You're going to the hospital."

"No," she says, aghast.

I force myself to speak gently. "Bella, you have to."

"I'm fine."

"I know," I say, although she's anything but fine, "but I'll feel better hearing that from a doctor."

"A doctor can't do anything for me."

I slip into pragmatic, emotionally uninvolved Edward. "Your lip is bleeding and you're covered in bruises. You're going to the hospital."

Her vacant eyes study me; frustration and fear and humiliation whirl in them, making me dizzy. Finally her shoulders fall with the awareness that I'm not going to back down. "Will you come with me?"

I have to fight off an unexpected wave of emotion. Jesus Christ. I haven't felt the urge to cry in years, and here I am about to breakdown on the night my girlfriend needs me most. "Yeah, of course, we'll take my car."

"I need to shower."

I can't recall where I've heard it, but somehow I know she should go just as she is. "No," I say softly. "We should go now."

She must know too, or maybe she's too worn out to protest, because she doesn't argue. She turns toward the front door. Her foot moves to the top step, then she freezes. "My bag and shoes are in the foyer," her voice a heart-crushing whimper. "I can't go in there."

The foyer is where it must have happened. Praying for composure, I open the front door and walk inside. I scan the marble floor for Bella's bag, but it's not there. I spot it a few seconds later, sitting on the center table. I try to push away the mental images my mind is trying to conjure. For a second the nausea comes back full force, making me stagger by the table. My fingers close around the cherry wood for support while I try to will the sick feeling away. I force myself to focus on what Bella needs.

She's all that matters. It's up to me to take care of her now, to wipe the look of fear from her face, to stop her hands from trembling, to make her safe. The job is overwhelming, but it becomes my focus. My reason for being.

I grab her bag and the fancy little sandals that sit nearby and hurry out the front door, letting out the breath I've been unconsciously holding.

**Thanks for reading… I hope you'll review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N – Here's Chapter Six (Edward's first meeting with the Swans) from Bella's POV. :) **

**All Twilight names and references belong to Stephenie Meyer. All original elements and plotlines belong to me.  
**

Bella

"Edward! You didn't have to… thank you!" I took the bunch of golden sunflowers from his outstretched hand and waved him into the house.

He leaned down to kiss my cheek. "I wanted to, and you're welcome."

He'd dressed up, for him anyway, slacks the color of sandstone, navy collared shirt, and for once, no ball cap. I reached up and placed my hand on his neck, pulling him forward so I could kiss him properly. He must've recently showered. I could smell the clean scent of his soap and his cheek was smooth, freshly shaven.

"You spoil me," I told him, but still, I was beaming shamelessly. I pointed at the second bouquet—yellow tulips. "For my mom?"

"Yeah. I need all the help I can get tonight." His voice was tight and there was a tension in his shoulders I'd never seen before.

"You're going to do fine."

We walked together toward the kitchen. I reached over to rub his arm, a gesture I meant to be reassuring, but he glanced quickly at me, his face alarmed, his eyes flitting to my hand in a very discouraging way. I grinned at the irony; it was usually _me_ who was forced to keep the PDA under control at his house…how the tables had turned! I winked and pulled my hand back, not wanting to make this first meeting any more difficult for him than it already was. He scowled and followed me through the archway into the kitchen.

My dad was sitting on a barstool along the island counter top, half way through a bottle of beer. My mom was standing at the sink washing vegetables. They gave us their full attention as we entered the room.

"Mom, Dad, this is Edward." The nerves in my voice were painfully apparent. This night was huge. It had to go smoothly. I so wanted my mom and especially my dad to like Edward. I needed him to be as comfortable with my parents as I was with Esme. But, tucked in amongst all the tension was a note of happiness. It was a relief to finally have Edward in the same room as my parents.

My mom approached first, smiling in her gracious hostess way. "Welcome, Edward."

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Swan," he said holding out the tulips.  
She reached out to take the flowers looking positively delighted. "Honey, call me Renee. These are beautiful! Bella told us your mother is a florist? Aren't you lucky? Now, where is her shop located?"

Before Edward had a chance to answer her string of questions, my dad stood up and moved toward us with a menacing glare. It was clear that his intention was to intimidate—hardly a challenge. He was a monster of a man, standing at Edward's height, but with much broader shoulders. He shot Edward a dark look before sticking his hand out. "Mr. Swan," he said. "Formerly, Chief Swan." Had I not been so unsettled I would have snickered at his suitably gruff voice and not so subtle hint that Edward wasn't welcome to call him Charlie.

"It's nice to meet you, sir."

I frowned at my father's unintelligible grunt of a reply, wishing he could at least _try_ to be hospitable. He ignored me and returned to his stool, draining his beer. Edward discreetly slid a step away from me.

"Have a seat, Edward," I said pointing to the stool next to the one my father occupied. "Can I get you a Coke or something?"

He moved with reluctance toward the island and my father. "Sure, thanks."

"Don't get too comfortable," my dad snapped. "I need to start the grill. You can come out back with me."

"Uh, okay." Edward pushed the stool back in, instead standing behind it looking very uncomfortable.

I turned my back on the awkwardness, searching the fridge for a can of Coke. "Here," I said, passing him the can. "More beer, Dad?"

"Yes, please."

I passed him a cold bottle from the fridge, winking at Edward.

"Let's go," Charlie grumbled, popping the top.

In a way that plainly suggested there was no room for argument, my father had told me before Edward's arrival that he wanted some time alone with him. I smiled apologetically. "I'm going to put these flowers in water. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Edward glared at me the second my father's back was turned, clearly annoyed with my abandonment. I gave a helpless giggle and waved him toward the door.

"Well, I think that went well," my mom said, fluffing her blonde bob. I gaped at her always infuriating glass-is-half-full mentality. "What? You don't think so?"

"Dad could have been a little nicer."

"He's worried about you, sweetie."

"He has nothing to worry about."

"He wants what's best for you. Edward will prove himself and your father will relax, you'll see."

I glanced out the window to the patio. They were seated at the wrought iron table, my father slouched and grim, Edward painfully rigid. They seemed to be talking, for what it was worth, though neither looked particularly enthused by the conversation. I was dying to rescue Edward, but somehow I knew my presence at the table would probably make things worse.

"Bella, help me with these vegetables, would you? It'll be dark before we eat if I don't get this food out to the grill."

It was quiet in the kitchen while I sliced zucchini into little discs. My mom filled two vases with water and arranged the flowers Edward had brought. For once she didn't seem inclined to fill silence with idle chatter, especially odd since I'd figured she'd have an earful for me about her initial impression of Edward. The quiet was fine with me. I was too consumed with what was happening on the patio to be much of a conversationalist. "I'm done," I said once I'd filled the bowl with chopped zucchini.  
"Here's the squash," she said, sliding a pile of bright yellow vegetables toward me. "You know, he seems like a very nice boy, Bella."

Aah, there it was. She'd held off longer than I would have guess. "He is," I confirmed with a nod.

"You two are getting pretty serious, aren't you?"

I refrained from sighing. Edward and I hadn't discussed the seriousness of our relationship, but the signs were pretty obvious. "Yes, I guess so."

She was quiet for so long I looked up from the squash on my cutting board. Her smile oozed satisfaction.

"What? What is that look?" I asked.

"Nothing. I don't want to pry."

"Mom, that wasn't a _nothing_ look. And since when do you have any problem prying?"

"It really is nothing," she said. "I'm just glad for you, that's all. I've seen such a change in you lately. For awhile there, I wasn't sure if we'd ever see you smile again, but now I see how happy Edward makes you. It makes me happy too."

"Oh…" I was a little taken aback. I hadn't realized my post-move funk had been so apparent. I thought I'd handled things with Riley and the whole transition pretty well, outwardly, at least. I went back to chopping, not really sure what to say to my mother.  
She patted my shoulder in her kind, motherly way. "Love's grand, isn't it?"

I nearly sliced my finger off.

I wasn't in love. I wasn't even sure I was _capable_ of love. I mean, I loved my parents. I loved my sister. I even loved Rosalie on some weird level…but that wasn't what my mom was referring to. Suddenly my cheeks felt very warm. Was that wonderful, terrifying, all consuming, butterflies-in-my-stomach, mush-in-my-head feeling I got whenever I looked at Edward _love_?

I kept chopping, a steady rise and fall of the knife in my hand so I wouldn't have to look at my mother.

"I think we're about ready," she said after a few minutes. "Toss the squash and zucchini with some marinade and we'll let Dad deal with it at the grill."

_Gladly._ I let out a breath of relief and quickly did as she asked, eager to get outside and out of the stifling heat of the kitchen.

Conversation on the patio stopped the second I stepped out with the food. I handed my father bowls of marinated chicken and vegetables, curious about what they'd been talking about. I sat down next to Edward and took his hand, watching my father amble off toward the grill.

"How's it going?" I asked in a low voice.

Edward didn't say anything, just squeezed my hand and nodded because my dad was still in earshot. He finished up at the grill, then made his way back toward us.

"The food should be ready soon," he announced, resuming his position at the head of the table.

"Good, I'm starving. Did Edward tell you about his baseball scholarship, Dad?"

It was only when my father gave me his sternest, most parental look that I noticed his very red cheeks—a definite sign of anger. "He shared a lot of interesting things with me."

I looked at him, confused, then to Edward. "What?"

"I wish _you_ would have told me Riley was calling again."

My stomach dropped out from under me and at the same time I let go of Edward's hand, hot anger bubbling up within me. I turned to face him—my boyfriend who I adored, who'd never so much as raised his voice at me. I felt completely and utterly betrayed. "Thanks a lot. Couldn't you've at least waited until after dinner?"

My father stepped in, Edward's unlikely defender. "Don't give him a hard time. I'm glad one of you had the good sense to fill me in. He seems to have his priorities in order and I appreciate that."

Edward offered me a small, tight smile, but I ignored it. Instead I crossed my arms over my chest and sulked like a toddler. "Don't look so satisfied with yourself," I muttered.

My dad cleared his throat and stood. "I'm going inside to help your mother. You're getting a new phone number tomorrow," he called before the screen door swung shut behind him.

"You can't honestly be mad," Edward said the second we were alone. "Your father isn't even upset."

As if that justified his breach of trust. "I told you I didn't want my parents to know. You went behind my back."

"I hadn't planned to. It just came out, but I'm not going to apologize. I'm glad he knows."

"Well good for you. You don't have to live with him. You don't have to put up with his rules."

"Yeah, I do. Whatever you put up with, I put up with. He's not mad, Bella. He's worried, just like me, but he can do something about it."

I didn't look at him. What he said seemed sensible, but it was hard to grasp reason when all I could focus on was his disloyalty. "We'll see."

He sighed a deep, frustrated sigh and I felt a little guilty. I couldn't deny that he had my best interests in mind.

"I just wish you would have talked to me first," I said quietly.

"Why? So you could've talked me out of it?"

_Yes!_ "No."

"I told you, I hadn't planned to tell him."

I traced the wrought iron pattern of the table top, trying to come up with a suitable response. I didn't want to fight with him, not tonight.

Suddenly he was close, leaning in, grasping my hand in his. "I can't stand to have you pissed at me, especially not tonight. You're going to get a new phone number and this'll be finished." He kissed my cheek, lingering. "I'm sorry, baby, please don't be upset," he whispered.

I melted at his words, the feel of his breath sweeping across my skin. He'd never called me anything but Bella. I gave him a sidelong glance, my anger letting up considerably. "You never play fair," I told him with a hint of dissent.

He shrugged, arrogant and endearing all at once. "You're moods are easy to turn."

I smiled at last, finding it impossible to stay mad. "My dad seemed to like you, at least."

He snorted. "I don't know about that. He asked me if I use drugs."

"He used to ask Emily's boyfriends that too, I'm surprised he didn't bring up tattoos and criminal records." I laced my fingers through his. "He likes you, Edward, I can tell. There's no pretension with my father."

"I hope that means he'll still let you see me."

"Me too." I looked toward the pool, considering. "If he were truly mad, he would have sent you home. You're still here… that's a good sign."

"So, go ahead and admit it—I was right to tell him."

"Don't push it. But I may have underestimated him on this one. I _am_ sort of glad you told him."

"Yeah, I bet you are."

"Really. You have such _good sense_," I teased, leaning toward him. He met me half way, his lips touching mine in a whisper of a kiss before I sat back against my chair again. "You were right all along. Thank you for telling him."

"You're welcome." He pushed my hair back behind my shoulders and I fell into his bottomless gaze as his fingers drifted under my hair to my neck, gently caressing my skin. He smiled, unreserved and adoring.

My parents came back outside then, an awkward interruption. Edward slid his hand from my neck as they walked toward us. "Why don't you two go in and refresh your drinks. Dinner will be ready soon," my mom said.

He followed me into the house and watched while I poured two Cokes over ice. Unwilling to let the brief moment of privacy pass, I left the glasses to sweat on the counter top and approached him with a sly look. He held out his hands for me to take, but I ignored them, instead leaning against his chest. "Don't worry, they won't come in," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck. I lifted up onto my toes to kiss him.

He held me, but his kiss was quick and chaste. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. They're getting dinner ready."

"If your father walks through that door and catches me making out with you like a horny teenager, I'm going to lose all the headway I made with him." He reached up to retrieve my hands and held them in his. "There's not a chance in hell I'm going to take that risk."

"Ed-ward…" I said, drawing the syllables in a whine.

I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "Why don't you come home with me after dinner? Esme will be asleep by then."

"Maybe… I mean, I'd love to, but I don't know if my dad will let me, considering."

"We'll see what he says, okay?" He smirked and nudged me away. "In the meantime, try to keep your hands to yourself."

We played Scrabble with my parents after dinner. Edward and my mom were equally horrible, plopping tiles down at the easiest possible places then laughing about their dismal scores. The competition was really between my dad and me—it always had been when it came to family games. We were the two who played strategically, the only goal being victory, while my mom and Emily were always content with the experience.

My dad ended up beating me, barely. His winner's high—not to mention the beer—sidetracked him enough that he didn't even bother to object when I announced my plan to follow Edward home for a visit. "Don't stay out too late," he said before shaking Edward's hand and retiring to his office.

It was just after nine when we got to the Masens' house. There was a note from Elise on the kitchen table explaining that she'd gone to dinner and a movie in Nashville. _I'll be home late tonight. See you at breakfast… you can fill me in on how your dinner with Bella's parents went, _she'd written to Edward.

"Who do you think she went out with?" I asked

"Who cares?" he called from the mud room where he'd gone to fill Ruby's dishes with fresh food and water. He came back to the kitchen and handed me a Milk Bone. I tossed it to Ruby and she gobbled it up, snuffling crumbs up from the floor while I looked on with a smile.

"So, home alone, are we?" I asked, filling the silence.

"I hope you don't mind." He was leaning against the stove watching me. Holding my gaze, he crossed the kitchen, his shoes treading softly against the hardwood. Taking both my hands in his, he walked backward toward the staircase until his feet hit the bottom stair. "Come upstairs with me?"

I glanced toward the ceiling as if I were considering. After a few seconds I focused on him, demure through my lashes. "Yes."

He turned then and led the way up the staircase, keeping one of my hands in his, walking much quicker than necessary. Once we hit the landing, he turned, taking my face in his hands, kissing me as he backed down the hall to his room, all but dragging me with him. He nudged the door open with his foot and walked backward into the room, pulling away with a quiet groan to close the door and flick on the work lamp on his desk.

I stepped around the clutter and sat down on the edge of his unmade bed, the distinct scent of his soap and leather hanging in the air. I shook my head, still not over the mess that was his room. "We're going to have to do something about this soon," I said, glancing around at the books and clothes and sports equipment that concealed the floor.

He perched on the edge of his desk. "I know… it's embarrassing now that I know what a neat-freak you are. It's so far gone I don't even know where to start."

"I could help you," I offered.

"Hell, no, I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy."

"But I'd like to." That was the truth. For some reason, organizing, sorting and tidying were cathartic to me. Plus, I owed Edward a favor—lots of favors, actually.

"No way. I'll get to it when baseball's over."

I gave up and scooted back, nestling further into his soft sheets while he gazed at me for a long, silent moment, his eyes dark and startlingly seductive. For a second I became tense, which even in that instant I knew was ridiculous. I averted my eyes and gathered my hair in both hands, dropping it back behind my shoulders, trying to get a handle on my nerves. When I looked back he broke into a smile. He was incredibly irresistible.

"Are you going to sit?" I asked with an amused smile.

He joined me on the bed and weaved his fingers through my hair, pulling me toward him. As he kissed me, my chest tightened with emotions I usually tried to keep reigned in. Maybe my mother had been right. Was this what love felt like?

Overwhelmed, I pulled back to look at him. His hands went to my face, his fingertips caressing my cheeks and then my neck. "You're everything to me, Bella," he said, his mouth inches from mine. "You know that, right? It's hard to remember what life was like before you… I don't even want to."

He was so open, so completely free of the wall he hid behind with everyone else, I was momentarily thrown. He said sweet things all the time, but nothing as intense as this, nothing that hinted at the depth of his feelings. I felt the exact same way, of course. After just a few weeks he'd become my best friend—my whole life.

I wound my arms around his middle, burying my face against his skin. Pressing my lips to his neck, I began a slow trail toward his ear. His fingers knotted in my hair, urging me on until I paused and murmured, "It's the same for me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Will you lay down with me?"

My slight smile grew as I nodded and curled up in the crook of his arm. He kissed me, long and slow, holding me close. I reveled in the moment, but at the same time I craved more. I snuck my hands under his shirt, running them over his warm skin the way I'd been doing quite often over the last few days. This time though, I tugged his shirt up toward his shoulders, breaking away to whisper, "Take this off."

He knelt over me and yanked his shirt over his head, then tossed it to the floor. Things felt deliciously unbalanced as he looked down at me snuggled against his pillows, still fully clothed. I smiled innocently, blinking wide eyes for full effect. He quirked an eyebrow and flashed a cocky grin. My cheeks flushed as I realized what he wanted, but I let him take my hands and pull me up, ready to take the next step.

"You okay?" he asked, touching my hot cheek.

I nodded, then grasped the hem of my tank top and pulled it over my head, my hair cascading around my bare shoulders as my shirt joined his on the floor.

His arms went around me, drawing me into a hug. Whether he meant to or not, he was giving me time to compose myself and I was grateful. I wanted this, more than anything, but I was baring myself in more ways than one. I'd held onto my modesty for so long, earned ridicule and taunts and the occasional backhand from Riley for keeping my shirt _on_. It was nerve wracking and at the same time strangely liberating to finally free this side of myself.

I nuzzled my nose into Edward's neck, his skin searing against my lips. We fell back onto his pillows again and I lost myself in his kisses.

Eventually I heard the clock chime downstairs. Edward shifted onto his back while I cleared my head with a few deep breaths and curled up next to him.

"You didn't have to stop yet," I whispered.

He twirled a lock of my hair between his fingers "Yeah, I did. A few hours ago I promised your father I wouldn't take advantage of you—"

"Edward! You're hardly taking advantage of me!"

"_And_," he continued, ignoring my interruption, "my mom's going to be home anytime. You don't want Esme wandering in here while you're half-naked in bed with me, do you?"

_God, no_. I sat up, reaching over him to grab my tank top from the floor and slipped in on before nestling myself in the nook of his arm again.

"Bella?"

"Yes?" I said, sleepy and very, very happy.

"I don't want you to feel like there's pressure, you know? We don't have to rush anything."

"I know." If anything, Edward seemed intensely aware of making me comfortable, of letting me call the shots. Even so, with him, sex didn't seem like one of those unattainable things _other_ people did, like skydiving or walking the Great Wall of China. Sex was something I was beginning to feel comfortable with, something I was starting to want to do.

But did he? He'd held out all this time, presumably turned down girls who were interested… I rested my head on his chest, absorbing the steady _thump thump_ _thumping _of his heart until my own matched its cadence.

"Edward?" My voice sounded subdued even to my own ears, full of uncertainty. "Do you think I'll be your first?"

He didn't miss a beat before answering, "Bella, I think you'll be my only."

I raised my head to look at him, my eyes wide with surprise. His only? Did that mean…? I smiled at the implication, a content, serene smile that spread slowly across my face and made him grin too.

**Thanks for reading… let me know what you think?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's Chapter 29 in Edward's POV. I hope you like it :)**

**All Twilight names and references belong to Stephenie Meyer. All original content and plotlines belong to this author. **

Early morning has come. I'm awake, barely, and I thirstier than I've ever been. I extract myself from Bella's arms and stumble down the hallway to the bathroom where I drink straight from the faucet, taking in huge gulps of water until my throat doesn't feel like sandpaper anymore. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I wipe my mouth on a towel. What I see is far from pleasing—puffy, shadowed eyes, pale skin, and rumpled hair that sticks out everywhere. I'm a lost cause, so I just brush my teeth and pad back down the hall, eager to get back to Bella and my bed.

In my morning clarity, I'm a little shocked that she agreed to stay with me. She was torn and I'd all but pleaded because nothing seemed more important at that moment than a night with her. Now I'm having second thoughts. Now that I'm awake, now that the bright light of morning is making everything just a little bit clearer, our little sleepover seems wild and pretty stupid. Bella made her point last night, gave me her faulty rationale, listed all the reasons why we weren't good for each other anymore.

As soon as she wakes up she's going to leave and I'll be left to pick up the pieces.

I open the door to my bedroom silently, but she raises her head to look at me, eyes squinted against the dull, silvery light. "Where did you go?"

I move cautiously toward her, hoping she's still tired enough to go back to sleep. It's too early to start the day and I can't face the prospect of her leaving yet. "To the bathroom," I whisper, sitting down on the bed.

She glances around me to the clock on my nightstand. "Are you getting up now?"

"No."

Surprisingly, she scoots toward me, flipping the quilt so it covers us both, and rests her head on my stomach. It feels so right, her gentle weight against me. I finger her hair, the dark strands fanned out over my chest. I wonder if I'm dreaming as she sighs with satisfaction. "Did you sleep well?" she asks, winding an arm around my waist.

"Yeah… you?"

"Very. I think I slept more last night that I have in the last week."

That's bothersome, although I'm pretty much in the same boat. "Sorry I woke you."

I twist a strand of her hair around my finger, content to stay awake now. Wasting this time with her—the only time I might ever have with her again—suddenly seems too outrageous to consider.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think this was a bad idea?"

I can't lie to her. "Probably."

"Because now you remember how much you hate me?"

"No, because it's going to suck when you go back to pretending I don't exist. And for the record, I don't hate you—though sometimes I wish I did."

"Why?"

"Uh… because it would be a hell of a lot easier to move on."

Her arm tightens around my middle; I don't let myself wonder at the symbolism of her hold. "Is that what you want? To move on?"

"That would be less complicated, I guess, but it won't happen."

"How can you be sure?"

"I don't know… I just am. I know what I want, Bella."

"I can't believe you _don't_ hate me. You should."

"I hate that you doubt me."

"I don't."

"I hate that you made a decision about us without me," I go on as if I didn't hear her. "I hate that you don't want me in your life anymore, but I'll never hate _you_."

She doesn't respond. I continue to play with her hair as a long stretch of quiet passes. My eyelids start to feel heavy, but I fight sleep.

When she speaks again she sounds timid, "My parents are making me talk to someone."

I'm fully alert. I'm entirely relieved to hear this news. I was no help to Bella, as desperately as I tried, but maybe a therapist will get through to her. Convince her that she's not at fault, that it's not her responsibility to spare me or anyone else from her pain. "Yeah?" I say, forcing my voice to remain neutral. "Like a therapist?"

"Pretty much… she refers to herself as a counselor."

"What's she like?"

"She's okay. She's old. She wears her hair in this long braid down her back, she wears tons of silver jewelry and burns incense in her office."

"Okay, but what's she _like_?"

I feel her smile against me. "She's nice. She's quiet. She doesn't really offer advice like I figured she would. Mostly she just listens."

"Is that helpful?"

"I don't know… I've only seen her a few times. I leave feeling crazier than when I went in, but maybe that's part of the process."

"You're not crazy, Bella."

"My parents think I'm depressed."

I contemplate my next question carefully before putting it out there. "Are you?"

"I don't know," she answers slowly. "You know, you're the first person to ask me. Everyone assumes I am—my parents, my sister, even Rosalie, the most insensitive person on the planet. They all walk on eggshells around me like I'm this fragile person who's going to break into a million pieces at any given moment. It's awful."

"Did I do that?"

"Sometimes… but it was different with you. You were protective, but you were real too."

I'm not sure what to make of that, so I sidestep it all together. "So, you're going to give the therapy thing a shot?"

"I think so. I mean, it's not as if things can get any worse."

"What do you talk about there?" I ask, worried I'm crossing some unknown therapy line.

"Lots of stuff… she knows about Riley, obviously. Charlie gave her the whole story when he set up my appointments. I've talked to her about it a little bit. Not the details, so much, but more about what I've been going through since." She pauses and moves on the bed, resting her head on the pillow next to mine so we're face to face. "I told her that I wish Riley hadn't died," she says quietly.

My heart's thudding, but I fit a mask of calm over my face. "Why?"

She sighs deeply, as if talking about this exhausts her. "Mostly I'm angry he took the easy way out. I was just getting comfortable with the idea of him paying for what he did. But I feel guilty too."

I reach for her hand and weave our fingers together, hoping the gesture doesn't remind her that she shouldn't be here. "I didn't know you feel guilty… why?"

"Someone is dead. He's _dead_, and there's no turning that around. I played a part in it, no matter how unwillingly. I keep wondering if there was something I could have done months ago that might have changed things. Maybe I missed some sign. Maybe I could have done something that might've changed _this_ future."

"But you told me weeks ago, before Riley ever found you, that you thought he was unbalanced, that you were like a prize to him. He would have come after you no matter what. He would have found a way. He made choices all along—crazy, violent, illegal choices. He was the only one who was ever at fault, Bella. I don't think there's anything you could have done that would have changed things."

"Do you really believe that?" she whispers, her wide eyes searching mine.

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Then why do you blame yourself?"

Every answer that comes to mind is a direct contradiction to what I've just said to her. I avert my gaze, scared she'll see what a hypocrite I am. "It's different."

"No, it's not."

"I should've been there," I say, finding her eyes again. I soak up the strength I see within her because it's so hard to admit I've failed her. "I was worried when you were late to Fork's, but I waited. If I would have listened to my gut, I would have been with you. I could have protected you—I _should_ have protected you."

"But he would have found a way, you said so yourself."

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. You can't keep punishing yourself. It's not good for either of us."

I want to ask her what she means—why what I do has any effect on her. We're not together. She has no commitment to me. What I feel and do shouldn't matter to her anymore. I don't say any of this aloud though, because I'm scared to make ripples in the calm. I'm scared she'll leave if I piss her off.

"You're different, Edward," she says softly. "You seem so sad."

My face falls into an expression of utter disbelief. Has she expected something different? "You're different, too," I say, ignoring the urge to describe just how sad I am. "You seem like you've got it all together, like there's nothing that can shake your conviction."

"Nothing could be further from the truth. I question every decision I've made in the last few months. There are a million things I wish I could change."

A tiny part of my brain believes she's referring to us—to the end of us. She alluded to the same thing last night. …_Every time I see you, I want to take it all back and ask you to forgive me_, she said right before she'd started to cry. I was too drunk and tired to sort it all out then, but now things seem like they might be falling into place.

Suddenly I'm tired of the bullshit, of Bella talking in confusing circles. I'm tired of wondering if I'm delusional, if I'm crazy to I allow myself to hope there might be a chance. I need a straight answer out of her. "I'm going to ask you a question and I need you to be completely honest with me."

She nods, waiting expectantly for me to get on with it.

I truly want her to be honest, but I'm terrified she'll say something I don't want to hear. I swallow hard. "If you had it to do over again, would you end things the way you did?

She searches for my other hand beneath the sheet and holds it against her chest. "No. Maybe I'm selfish, but it's too hard without you. I miss you, Edward."

"I miss you, too," I say, in case she doesn't already know.

"But, I can't say the time apart has been bad for me," she goes on. "I've learned, figured some things out. I think I've grown." I can tell she has. She seems wiser, anchored in a way she never was before.

"I wish I could say the same. All I've done is whine and sulk."

She smiles shrewdly. "Don't get me wrong, I've done plenty of that too. I'm not who I was, but… I think I'm going to be okay."

"When you are okay—_whenever_ you're ready—I'll be here. I know you said not to wait, but I'm waiting, Bella. I love you. You're the only person I'll ever want to be with."

I expect her to argue, to say something sensible and try to convince me she knows what's best. Instead, she uses our linked hands to pull herself closer. She winds her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. I press my hand to the small of her back, holding her against me while the tension melts from my body. Without thinking, I start to rub her back, something I did countless times when we were together. The rightness of her in my arms, the perfect fit of our bodies, her sweet lavender scent—it's all too good. I fall asleep thinking about how desperately I want her back.

**I'd love it if you let me know what you think!**


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